February 15, 2010 in Las Vegas
by sarapals with past50
Summary: GSR and all fluff,Greg's try at getting marriage secrets, and Sara gets a surprise! A short one with some sweet smut! What CSI writers will never tell us!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Here's one for what we did not see on CSI (and the writers failed to mention!) for a Happy Valentine's Day in Vegas for our favorite couple! Enjoy!_

**February 15, 2010 in Las Vegas**

Greg Sanders loved working with Sara Sidle. Truth be known, he wanted to _love_ Sara Sidle and he had hoped for years she would love him, but that was history now that she wore that gold band on her left hand. He grinned as he heard her swear beyond the door. He knew if he were completely honest with himself that he never stood a chance with his working partner. She had always loved Gil Grissom.

"Hey," Sara said from the door. She looked around at the mess. "Wow, do we know how he got in here?"

Dave Phillips looked up from his position near a body. "According to the manager, the freezer door wasn't locked." He returned to his work, checked pockets and handed a worn wallet to Greg. "Well, he's frozen."

Sara had entered the walk-in freezer, shivering before she was cold, and knelt between Greg and Dave. "I think I've done this before, Dave."

"Not with me," said Greg.

Dave turned his head toward Sara, a serious look on his face. "Not with me—I would remember."

"Nick, then," she said. "And I think the guy was shot."

Two men appeared at the door, holding steaming buckets. "Hot water," one said.

"He's stuck," Dave explained. He directed the men to pour the water around the body. Quickly, they lifted, placed the body on a stretcher, wrapped it up, and wheeled it out of the freezer.

Sara and Greg remained inside the cold room; Greg tugged his cap over his ears and shivered.

"What's the story?"

Greg could recite word for word everything he had heard as he explained how the dead man had been found inside the freezer. "No one had opened it since early this morning and when the manager was closing up," he spread his hands, "she found Mr. Popsicle."

"Oh, Greg," Sara groaned at his attempt at humor. "Where do we start?"

The freezer was a frozen disaster; boxes of frozen meat patties all over the floor, torn bags of French fries scattered everywhere, breaded chicken nuggets lying about like small stones, a small pool of red liquid—blood from the looks of it, and a huge slick brown puddle on the floor—human waste, Sara suspected.

Breathing made clouds of frosty haze as they scraped and collected bits and pieces.

Greg sighed as he put a frozen patty in an evidence bag. "I'm saying the old guy wandered in here, couldn't get out and made this mess trying to find the door and died."

"Could be—let's see if there is a car outside. I'm nearly frozen in here so it could happen pretty quickly."

They took the offered coffee, spoke with the manager and the first officer to arrive, and walked around the parking lot with Detective Vega looking at cars finding none abandoned.

"The manager can't swear the freezer door was locked—they have a smaller freezer in the kitchen—employees going in and out—the guy could have gotten locked inside unnoticed—busy day. You see a few of these big freezers like this, but most open inside the building." Vega said, leaving them outside leaning against the CSI vehicle.

Greg enjoyed working with Sara for moments like this. Just he and Sara, sharing some time, talking as friends do. She was talking about walking Hank who was not at the dog sitter's. He knew his friend was happier and more content than she had been in years; yet he could not work his mind around the physical separation of their current state. It puzzled him every day.

"So, Sara," he teased. "What's with Grissom and Valentine's Day? He can't drag himself to Vegas long enough to be with his one-and-only?"

She shot a side-long glance his way and grinned. "You are just too curious, Greg Sanders!"

His hands and feet danced nervously, "Tell me."

"You'll put it in some book you write one day."

Greg mocked a horrified look, "Never!" His hand came up, "Promise!"

"Well, if you must know," she turned sideways and leaned her shoulder against the vehicle. "We talk every day before I come to work, and we talk after I get home. You know I'm flying over there every time I can—it's working for us. He'll be here in a few weeks."

Greg grinned; this was no more than he already knew. "What did he you get for Valentine's Day?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Some things are best not shared."

"He didn't get you anything, did he?" Greg said, putting another shocking look on his face. "No flowers? No candy? No jewelry—sparkly stuff?" He shook his wrist in the air.

Sara giggled. "Greg, sometimes it's not about possessions." She elbowed his rib. "Let's get to work—that freezer will not get warmer."

They gathered and bagged and labeled more frozen "stuff" from the floor finally taping the door and telling the manager to lock up, leaving keys with the officer.

"Let's hope this one is easy," Greg groaned as he crawled into his SUV.

Sara waved; so did she. Driving back to the lab, she dialed an international number, listening to the ring until it rolled into message mode. She had lied to Greg, sort of. She and her husband always talked before work, but today, he had not answered nor had he called her back. She sighed, more sad than worried, because this would be the first time they had not talked before her shift since she returned to Vegas.

Greg had waited for her before heading to the morgue where their frozen man was defrosting slowly. Doc Robbins had found a significant contusion on his head which suggested a fall. They knew some of the swabs indicated a significant blood pool on the floor of the freezer.

The next few hours, they ran name searches and located their man's address—one of the many temporary rooming houses in the area—and sent the information to Detective Vega. Finally, they settled into their office chairs and worked on several open cases until both decided it was more fun to talk about other things.

"Where's Catherine tonight?" Greg asked.

Sara smiled. "I think Catherine might have a date."

"It is Valentine's Day," Greg grinned when he looked at Sara. "You know who it is!" He rolled his chair around the desks to sit beside her. "Come on, tell me! Is it someone I know?"

She laughed. "Greg, you seriously need to find a girlfriend!"

"I'm working on it—cute new girl on day shift—maybe a double shift and I can get to know her better." He scooted his chair back to his desk while Sara shuffled papers. He propped his feet on the desk. "How about a few pointers?"

Sara snickered. She loved Greg like a brother and he tended to tease her as he would a sister. Her personal phone buzzed and she checked caller ID and answered immediately.

"Hey," she said, turning away from Greg. "Not too busy," she said as she got up and left the room.

Greg grinned; he knew who she was talking too. He left the office and headed to the vending machines with a hand full of change. If Grissom wouldn't buy his wife candy, Greg would. He chunked in coins and pressed a number and retrieved a large chocolate bar. Returning to the office he folded a piece of paper and drew a heart on it, then tented it over the candy bar.

When Sara returned, she was smiling which broadened when she saw the heart and candy. "Ah, Greg, you're so sweet!"

"Well, if the big man can't deliver—I will," he laughed as she made a face at him. "Tell me, Mrs. Grissom, just between us—do you have 'phone sex' with Mr. Grissom? I'll never tell your secrets!"

At that, she threw the candy bar at him. "You can have your candy back—that's none of your business!" She caught the chocolate that he tossed back at her.

"That means you do!" He chuckled and ducked behind the desk as she pitched the candy at his head. The candy made a thud sound as it connected to the back of his head.

They both laughed as he unwrapped it, took several broken pieces and passed the remaining candy back to her.

"The lobby is filling up with flowers," Greg said, "and all the old man can give you is a phone call." Greg kept teasing and Sara kept laughing at him, unwilling to provide him more information about her love life—or her married life.

Their dead guy in the freezer proved to be a low priority—living alone, elderly and confused—as his death appeared to be an accident. Before shift ended, Sara decided to leave early; these days there was a limit to how much time she wanted to spend in the lab, even with Nick and Greg and their unlimited talk of ballgames and cars and places to eat. They joked and laughed as they walked with her to her car—because it was a quiet night and because they cared about her more than they would admit to each other.

Jim Brass drove up as she was leaving. "Where's Sara going?" He asked when he saw the two men in the parking garage.

"Home," Nick said. "Doesn't care for our company like she once did."

Brass chuckled. "She'll have a surprise when she gets there."

His comment started an avalanche of questions and he kept them guessing until Greg said "Grissom's here."

Instead of confirming Greg's guess, Brass gave a smug look as he said, "I think it's safe to say Mrs. Grissom will be taking off tonight."

_A/N: Now leave a review--and we have a little sweet smut coming up!!_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Smut alert! Nothing too graphic--enjoy!_

**February 15, 2010 in Las Vegas Chapter 2**

Gil Grissom slept nearly eight hours on the jetliner heading west; checking his phone he saw several missed calls from one person and called Sara as he hurried to catch the flight to Las Vegas. He had called Brass with arrival time, trusting his old friend with his surprise. As soon as he got home, his dog was bouncing with joy and ready to be walked, then he had walked around their home—the place he and Sara called home even if he was six thousand miles away. He noticed her book by the sofa, plucked an apple from the bowl in the kitchen, and ran his hand over the stack of accumulated mail. He loved how Sara kept the house organized, everything had a place, and, standing in the kitchen, he sniffed—nothing smelled quite like Sara's clean house. He touched a few books, noticed she had placed a few things from his office around the living room, and she had replenished her herb garden in the window.

Grissom ate the apple as he thought about what the past year—two years, he corrected—had been for them. He was happier than he had ever been and most of this feeling was centered on his wife. His current tenure in Paris would be finished soon and, even though it did not look like they would get a research grant this year, there were several possibilities for them to work together. He was surprised she had returned to the lab, but she had talked about the need for closure, a certain sense of duty to her friends, when she was in treatment for her breakdown, and even later, in Costa Rica, she had worried about the others. Ecklie's request for help had come at an appropriate time; Sara was not a person who could spend endless hours in idle or frivolous activities.

He picked up his bag and headed to the bathroom. He smiled at the fresh flowers in a vase and a clean towel placed beside the sink. Some things would never change. He peeled off his clothes, opened the closet to find it as he knew it would be—his shirts were arranged by color on a rack, his shoes paired on a shelf, his underclothes and pants were neatly folded—with Sara's attention to detail. Before they lived together, he was a drop and roll guy; he dropped his clothes where he took them off and he rolled anything clean. He stuffed his soiled clothes into the hamper and turned on the shower.

An oversized showerhead poured forth a powerful spray of hot water. The Paris apartment had a very nice shower but nothing could match the pressure of water in Vegas. Quietly, he begin to sing the words of an old popular song, one he had heard in his headset on the plane, and the words remembered, he sang and hummed the rest, turning slowly in the flowing water.

When he heard the bathroom door open, he stopped singing. Through the steam covered door, he could see a familiar silhouette, which divested itself of clothing. The glass door opened, and standing there in a cloud of steam, a small bar of lavender scented soap in one hand, was Sara Sidle Grissom—naked but wearing a broad smile that covered her entire face. Without clothes, she was smaller, thinner, delicate appearing but perfectly proportioned.

Her smiled became mischievous, playful, as she reached a hand toward him and drew a heart shaped figure across his wet chest. "That's nice," she said. "I had to make sure you were really here!" Then, after a few seconds, "Are you going to invite me in, Mr. Grissom?"

He laughed as she entered the shower, stepping close enough so the tips of her breasts just barely touched his chest, and kissed him lightly on the lips.

"Tell me what brings you to Vegas?" She asked with a soft low murmuring voice. Then she handed him the soap.

She turned beneath the spray, raising her face to the water and finger-combing her hair. All Grissom could do was watch until she leaned both hands against the tile wall and asked, "Would you be a sweetheart and wash my back?"

"Hank?" He asked as he worked up a creamy lather, and slid his hands up and down, sideways, letting his hands slowly caress her butt before moving his hands upward and leaning against her backside.

Sara laughed, "Yes, he always meets me at the door—but you left his leash folded on the table—so I knew you were home." She stretched her arms up and turned around. "Don't forget the front." She felt the heat emanating from his groin and kept her body in contact with his, a rush of emotions infused her mind and body.

He didn't. After she was well-lathered, he leaned forward placing his hands on either side of her head on the wall behind her. Sara touched his jaw with her fingertips. "I've missed you." Her hand slipped along the wet skin of his neck, his shoulder, his chest and she heard a low, hungry groan deep in his chest. Her hands moved upward to encircle his neck. He reacted immediately, pressing tightly until she was against the tile and his aroused body molded to hers. Her leg wrapped around his, opening her body to his.

"Sara." He drew a deep breath. "I need you." He kissed her again, and she responded, parting her lips as she pushed fingers through his hair.

One of his palms closed over her left breast and a warm, wonderful tension began to build deep inside her. His thumb circled her nipple and she heard herself make a soft, husky moan. She kissed his throat, his chest, and he shuddered as her hands moved along his sides until she reached his hips and then circled his erection with her long fingers. He made a sound, half groan, half muffled laugh as he captured her hands.

"Enough," he rasped.

The shower had been specifically designed by these two—large enough for them to enjoy showering together, with a large high pressure shower head, and a second rainfall sprayer with a gently mist of water—intended for times like this. Grissom's hand found the touch-button and the water flow changed. The shower also had a long bench and he backed up to it, holding her as he sat down and pulled her to his lap. Her legs parted as her knees straddled his hips.

A moment later she felt the firm thrust of his erection pressing against her thigh. His arm reached around her butt and his fingers eased their way to the most intimate place on her body. He touched her, finding the damp, throbbing entrance to what he sought, and gently eased one finger inside her. She twisted, seeking more, leaning against him until he was pressed against the wall.

Against his mouth, she said, "I am ready—for you—not a test!"

He chuckled as he guided his penis, pushing gently, filling her completely. She felt him move inside her, unhurried, as she began to move against him, and slowly they rocked together as he drove himself deeper. The muscles of his back were rigid bands beneath her palms as a sweet passion built inside her. She clutched him closer.

"Sara." His mouth opened in a heavy groan. His muscles tightened as waves of passion sent sensations through his body. "Sara."

Sara had bent her head to his neck, rocking with him as orgasmic contractions had moved from her toes to the top of her skull. This crashing of waves pounded in her between her thighs and abdomen moving to her breast and upward to her brain. At some point, when his mouth had closed around her nipple, she made a sound—an aroused cry before she collapsed against him.

The gentle rain of the shower, or the restrictions of movement on the tiled bench, ultimately got them to move from bathroom to bedroom. Grissom grabbed a cream colored towel and patted her dry, but fell into bed beside her with water dripping from his hair. It took all the control he possessed not to consume her—beginning with her lips and moving to her breasts, downward to her navel and to the small, sensitive bud hidden by dark curls and intimate folds. But he moved slowly, drawing out their play, just as she did with him.

The towel has been thrown somewhere behind them and Hank had been closed out of the bedroom before he lowered himself onto the bed. For a few minutes, they kissed holding each other tightly. His palms slid down her spine, feeling the elegant curve from her waist to her hips. When his fingers closed over the firm flesh, she moved and a little shiver went through her. His fingers traced the cleft that separated the swells of her butt.

Sara made a breathless sound as she laced fingers through his hair and whispered his name against his ear. Her lips nibbled at the edge of his ear before she returned to his mouth and kissed him with an urgency that made him groan. She could feel him—pressed against her thigh, heavy and rigid with desire.

He slipped from her arms and leaned down, kissing her knee. Her hands brushed his hair and with a single motion of his head, she separated her legs. His mouth moved along her thigh, kissing and tasting, until he was between her legs, discovering and rediscovering the exquisite, delicate scent he found there. He could live the rest of his life on the fragrance of Sara, he thought. In his dreams, this was what he imagined—the heat of his own body, this drugging fragrance, and holding Sara.

The small bud between her folds throbbed as he touched it with his tongue, sucking gently and blowing warm breaths. When he eased a finger into her, she clenched around him and gasped, her fingers tightened in his hair. He probed, he kissed, he slid another finger into her and felt her muscles contract rapidly from the stimulation. Finding the cluster of nerves inside her, he pressed and stroked as she moaned, her breathing coming in rapid puffs of air. Her entire body tensed.

He knew—sensed from the wetness on his hand, the strong contractions against his hand—that her climax was immediate. In a moment, he moved, covering her body with his, one hand guiding his erection as her hands grabbed and clutched furiously for him. His mouth covered hers as he slipped inside her, swallowed by her furious desire.

A/N: _And it's not over! Review quickly so this love-fest can continue! _


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Final chapter of this little smut flic--enjoy, and review!_

**February 15, 2010, in Las Vegas Chapter 3**

Kissing her husband was one of the most pleasurable sensations Sara had ever experienced; and to have him return kisses made the experience absolute passion—that intense, overpowering emotion of love and joy and excitement—that belonged to few people in the world. As he gently touched her with the bath towel drying her skin, everything in her wanted to pull him into an embrace, feel his skin against hers until they welded together. As he lay beside her, deeply kissing her, she savored the pleasure of being touched intimately by him as she raised then lowered her body against his. He had quickly regained an erection and the hot throbbing shaft played against her thighs—he was taking too long, she thought, and it was doing her no good dancing between her legs.

Then he slipped from her hold after a passionate kiss and moved his head between her legs and began to work his mouth and his fingers in a way that made it impossible for her to think. All she could do was breathe as natural instincts took over, twisting against his hand, in a grip of a force she fully understood yet had no control over by now. Muscles contracted, her hips lifted, she moaned his name. She wanted to say more, demand more, move him—that glorious erection between his legs—inside her body. And then, just when she thought she could not stand any more stimulation, he propelled his body upward and she felt him deep inside her. She gasped and made a sound that should have been his name as waves of pleasure raged through her.

She felt a heavy groan from deep within his chest as they tumbled into a passionate whirlpool in a warm sea. When it was over, he collapsed, sprawling across her breasts, a leg over her thighs, and an arm curved possessively around her.

It was a long time later when reality returned; both had slept without separating and when Sara woke, Grissom's arm was around her waist and his leg across her thigh, bent so his knee rested between her thighs.

She lay quietly, taking in the sensations around her; Grissom's warm body, the smell of musk and lavender, the feel of his arm snugly around her, and the lingering tenderness between her legs.

Grissom stirred eventually, raising himself on his elbow to look at her. His fingers brushed a curl away from her face. "Not quite what you were expecting, was it?" he asked.

Sara laughed. "I would have driven straight home if I had known you were waiting!" She kissed his chin, his nose, before moving to his mouth. "I spent an hour in Target…" She laughed again as he cut off her words with a kiss and she cuddled in his arms.

"I got an unexpected flight on Sunday into San Francisco, called Jim from there and he picked me up—I wanted to surprise you." He wrapped covers around them. "And I have some news I wanted you to hear in person."

Her eyes flew open. "Our grant?"

He had taken her hand in his. "No, that's not looking good right now—however, the university has a one-year appointment." He felt her deep sigh, knowing she was disappointed about their research grant. "We can refine it, put it out there again—it's good—we just have a lot of competition."

"Gil," she said quietly. She sighed again. "I was hoping we would get it."

Grissom realized she had stopped breathing, actually was holding her breathe, and a very subtle change had occurred. Puzzled, he said, "its okay—we can always volunteer with another group—just for a few weeks."

A single tear escaped her closed eye and ran down her cheek.

"Hey—what's this?" He took his thumb and wiped the line of moisture from her face. "I thought you would be thrilled. We may not get the grant this year, but there's always next year." She barely nodded her head. "What's wrong?" He kissed her, quickly. His finger traced along her chin. "Look at me, Sara, what's wrong? We made a promise to talk."

"You're so happy—and it is such an honor—about the university position." She tried unsuccessfully to blink away tears. "I was hoping for the grant so we could be together."

"Wait—you thought this position is in Paris?" He grinned, kissed her again. "Sorry—it's here, right in Vegas! That's why I flew home," he made a face realizing his mistake. She grinned. "I got an email about the position—its entomology, right here at the university—one of the researchers got a grant for a year in the Louisiana swamps. They need someone beginning in June so I'm going out tomorrow." He kissed her again, and then said, "I came for you but the position gave me a reason to come quickly—and in secret—as a surprise."

"You'll be at home—here!" Sara rolled on top of him, propping herself up with an elbow. "So we would get to see each other every day—like a normal, married couple."

Grissom smiled. "We won't ever be normal, Sara."

He scooted away from her, padded across the room to his bag, retrieved a small red box and crawled back in bed. "I brought you something." He placed the box in her hand. "A Valentine's present—or something."

Everyone knew the name on the box; she lifted the top and stifled a gasp. She picked up a finely twisted gold chain. "Oh, Gil," she whispered as she let the chain lace through her fingers. She examined the tiny clasp and read the engraving, "Cartier Paris". Her eyes grew larger.

He took it from her, unfastened the clip, and fingered the stone. "It's an estate piece—they don't make these any longer. I thought of you—us when I read the description. Ruby is the stone of passion," he said as he looped the necklace around her neck. The choker lay against her neck with a perfect fit.

And as hours had gone by since they had last made love, he kissed her with the intention of arousing a flame. With her body pressed against his, he was already feeling the growing sensation of heat roll through his veins. When he looked at her, wondering if she would be ready for him—again, his thought disappeared. Her eyes gleamed and it was desire, not tears that he saw.

Sara made a soft sound, like "ohh", in a way that meant "yes". Her hands slid over his chest, parted just below his waist to caress his hips, then moved back to delicately touch his groin while her hips straddled his thigh. He could feel the dampness between her legs as she began to kiss his erection, using her tongue in a very pleasing way. He knew this erotic stimulation could not continue; absence or age or need would quickly bring his own explosion of passion.

He grabbed her hands and pulled her up. "That's enough," he whispered as he kissed her.

Afterwards, Sara slept, drugged by exhaustion and contentment. Grissom woke before she did, took Hank for another short walk, promising a longer walk later, and called Catherine who already knew he was in town.

She laughed when she heard his voice, "I've already marked Sara off the schedule—two days. She smiles all the time, Gil. Keep her that way!" She laughed at his speechlessness, "And have a Happy Valentine's Day—a day late!" she said as she ended the call.

The End 3 _A/N: Thanks for reading, many thanks to those who review--give us a week or so to get finishing touches on another story of the "A Few Days" series. _

_REVIEW! Please! Thank you!_


End file.
